MAGNET contributing writer Jud Cost is sharing some of the wealth of classic films he’s been lucky enough to see over the past 40 years. Trolling the backwaters of cinema, he has worked up a list of more than 100 titles—from the ’20s through the ’80s—that you may have missed. A new selection, all currently available on DVD, appears every week.
The Third Man (1949, 106 minutes)
With its shadowy images of a rubble-strewn, post-war Vienna and the crisp dialogue of renowned British novelist Graham Greene, Carol Reed’s The Third Man sucks you in like water down a storm drain. The hypnotic zither of Anton Karas, discovered by Reed playing in a Viennese restaurant, is one of the film’s signature elements.
American pulp-fiction writer Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) has arrived in the Austrian capitol 10 minutes too late, it seems. His old friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles), who has offered Martins a job, has just been accidentally run over by his own driver in the street outside his home. Lime’s personal physician, who happened to be walking by the scene of the accident, could do nothing to save him. It all has the aroma of three-day-old fish to Martins, who begins to investigate the tragedy with the doggedness of a veteran newspaper reporter.
Lime, he learns, was heavily involved in Vienna’s rampant black market. One of those attending his friend’s funeral, Major Calloway of the British Army (Trevor Howard), is so eager to see Martins return to the States, he offers to pay for his hotel that night and air fare home the next day. “It’s a shame, him dying like that,” says Martins to Calloway. “Best thing that ever happened to him,” replies the major. “He was about the worst racketeer that ever made a living in this dirty city.”
“I saw it, myself,” says one of Lime’s associates, Baron Kurtz (Ernst Deutsch), of the fatal accident, as he holds a small dog in his arms. “Harry is already in hell or heaven,” Kurtz adds, pointing up for the former, down for the latter. “You were a friend of his?” asks Martins. “I think his best, except for you, of course,” says Kurtz. “Wasn’t there a girl at the funeral?” asks Martins. “Some girl, you know Harry. But I don’t know her name,” says Kurtz, evasively.
Martins tracks down the girl, Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli), an actress at the Josefstadt Theatre who was once in love with Lime. “I wondered about it 100 times, if it really was an accident. But what difference does it make. He’s dead, isn’t he?” she says as they walk toward Lime’s apartment.
The porter for Lime’s building (Paul Hoerbiger) nervously recounts hearing the deadly accident from an upstairs window. “There were three men who carried your friend over to the statue of Emperor Josef,” he says, contradicting Kurtz’s story that there were only two. “The third man didn’t give evidence at the inquest. I didn’t see his face. He might have been anybody.” Becoming increasingly agitated over Martins’ questions, the porter suddenly explodes. “I should have listened to my wife. She said you were up to no good. Fraulein Schmidt, you must not bring this gentleman again!”
